Saturday, August 31, 2013
Thoughts on.....Me, Pt.3
Part Three
That was in late February. For the next few months I was content to let the processes move at their own pace, as I tried to establish a healthy routine. And though I was now looking towards the light, I felt I was still too close to the darkness, and wanted to move farther away. I needed to surround myself with people, with friends, but Eve and I never had anyone in our lives but our families, so I had no friends to draw upon. So I turned to my friends on Facebook. I don't have a huge number of friends (42), and some of those I rarely communicate with, but I have a core of people I like 'hanging out with,' and I began to rely on them, on you, to help me cope. And if I give a special thanks to Nicki, Rhea Lynn, Janet, and Marta, it is not because I value your friendship less, but that they were the first to reach out, embrace, and pull me into this family. As time passed, I became more engaged with that family, and my life was as normal as it had been in a long time. And as I stood there then, towards the light, I could still feel the darkness behind me, and I worried that I might fall back towards it. I had made a dramatic turn, a dramatic change in my life, and was heading in the right direction, but I was not there yet. Something, I felt, still had to occur.
And it did, in the most unexpected, and tragic, of circumstances. On July 23rd, I made a humorous observation concerning naked women, tattoos, and the Internet, which got a lot of responses. Later in the evening, I got a reply from Cindy Snellgrove, who told me she has a small rose tattoo, to cover a scar left by a chest tube, inserted after a car accident. So I had to trump her scar with mine, left when I had my left radial artery removed, for a heart bypass. So Cindy informed me, her husband Bill had the exact same scar, from his heart bypass. And then she wrote this: This past Sunday Bill had a heart attack and we've been in the hospital since. It was pretty significant heart attack and he's now on a ventilator and has a balloon pump in his heart and arterial lines and all sorts of terrible things. I'm thinking he's gonna have a few more scars if we can get healthy enough for the heart surgery. I'll take prayers too. I must admit I was startled, this bit of news, coming out of the blue, as it had.
Cindy was not just a friend. We had dated for a few months, back in Fairborn, and was a favorite model of mine when I was into photography, and has a special place I my memories. I offered my hopes and prayers for them both, and tried to lighten her spirit as best I could. But then on the 25th, she wrote this: "I want to thank all of you for your thoughts and prayers. Bill passed away this morning. His heart just wasn't able to overcome the damage and he slipped into God's arms...." It broke my heart to know she was going to experience the same pain I had felt just four years before, and I wanted nothing more than to guide her through the pitfalls I knew she would face. I had no one to help me, so I was determined to help her. We conversed here, on Facebook, at first, but soon our discussions into the unexpected problems she would encounter became specific, and not for public consumption. So we messaged back and forth, me pointing out how she needed to get the bank accounts, the car titles, the deeds, the insurance, all in order. But the thing I wanted to prepare her for most was the roller coaster ride of emotions she would experience, the unexpected feelings, the feelings that could change in an instant. And also to not suppress those feeling, and especially to never apologize for those feelings. We are all human, and this is what being a human is all about. I told her that not all these feelings will be sad. For every moment of grief and loss, there will be more of happiness and love. That is what is often forgotten at this time, that death is the re-affirmation of life. So I continued to give advice and comfort, as best I could.
I don't remember if it was a single instance, or an accumulation of discussions, I only know I repeated a common theme, that she would get through this, she would be whole, she would be happy again, she was strong and her life would go on, she would never really lose Bill, he would always be with her, she had friends that cared about her. And on those bad days, when she doubted she could ever be happy again, I repeated this list again, and again, until she started to believe it. And as she started to believe it, she saw the pain I was still suffering, and began to say to me, Donnie, you will get through this, you will be whole, you will be happy, you are strong and your life will go on, you will never lose Eve, she will always be with you, you have friends that care about you. That was the final epiphany. I could not ask Cindy to accept from me anything I would not accept for myself. And that was when I knew that I would be healed, happy, whole. From now on, the darkness would remain behind, and I would only look to the light.
It was a little humbling to discover I had the ability to heal myself all along, and didn't believe it, or didn't allow myself to believe it. I see now I never wanted to kill myself, I allowed myself to think there were no other alternatives. But there are always alternatives, and as I said earlier, suicide is not a viable option. And now I have a clearer picture of where I want to go, what I want to do, the man I want to be. It is ironic, that as someone who has always loved science fiction, and reading about the future, I never saw myself in the future. Now I do see myself in the future, doing things I want to do, meeting people and making friends, finding someone to share a life together, being happy, being alive.
One of the things I plan on doing, is writing (like you didn't guess that already). I have always loved to write, and believe that is where I have the best chance of achieving my goals. One of my gifts, is the gift of laughter. I can make people smile, I can make people shake their heads, I can make people laugh out loud. It is a very empowering gift to have, and I love to share it, so expect to see many humorous works from me. But I have recently discovered I am able to move people in other ways, to elicit other emotions. I know I can excite people, surprise them, take them to the heights of exhilaration, and to the depths of grief. I can have them experience the most intimate of moments. And I can make people cry. I know this from writing "Eve's Story," about the last ten days of our life together. It is these types of stories I want to share as well.
So, that's me, my story. I have never felt I was particularly remarkable, and my story is undoubtedly similar to many others'. But everyone does have a story, and they all have worth, and deserve telling. I hope you find something to take away from my story, or are at least amused by it. And there may be those of you, those who've had their lives planned out since birth, and followed every road map, every blueprint without deviation, who've reached and surpassed every goal, have a wonderful family, the perfect life, who are wondering, What's the big deal? They may even wonder that with smugness or derision. I don't know, maybe it's the Zoloft talking, but I just don't care. After all, this story is just about.....me.
Thanks for taking the time. Don
Thoughts on.....Me, Pt.2
Part Two
In November, I joined Facebook, and reconnected with a lot of old friends from back home. It was nice to catch up with people I had not seen in 40 years, find out they had married, had exciting careers, children, grandchildren. It gave me hope and comfort to know that people I cared for had such blessings. Unfortunately, some of my old friends were not so blessed, and had suffered hardship and disappointment in their lives. My wish for them was to find comfort and security.
Christmas came and went, and it was very hard, the first Christmas without Eve, the first without our special Christmas Eve dinner. The next week was New Years,' and again the loss of our special traditions. I dreaded the 21st, that terrible anniversary, and then the next ten days, finally reaching the 31st, the day I lost her the year before. It was shortly after, I would find myself crying uncontrollably, while watching the Winter Olympics. It didn't matter if the story was happy or sad, it affected me. I had a visit to my cardiologist soon after, and told him of my continual sadness, and my inability to function, and could he give me something, something mild, something that would just help me cope. He prescribed Zoloft.
WOW! When you watch their commercials, and hear the disclaimer, Zoloft should not be taken by those with thoughts of suicide, they aren't kidding. Hide the knives, and empty the guns! Yeah, I had thoughts of suicide, if by thinking about suicide 10-12 times a day, constitutes thoughts of suicide. I thought about it, a lot, but deep down I don't think I was ready to accept it. I kind of adopted a saying, Suicide is not a viable option, which is not only a good saying to adopt, but is humorously ironic if you speak French. But the Zoloft changed all that. It takes away all inhibitions, suddenly suicide is a viable option. All the checks and balances I had created, were gone, all the safety protocols were turned off. "Computer, begin self-destruct sequence, now." The sixty second count-down began.
An insidious effect of Zoloft, is you just don't care. I know I should be cleaning the house. I just don't care. I know I should be eating better. I just don't care. I know I should be brushing my teeth, taking a shower. I just don't care. When I began taking it, I was sad, and I expected that it would make me, less sad. It didn't, and if anything, it made me sadder to realize that fact. I just didn't care. Once this feeling permeated my daily thought process, I was a little scared, afraid of what I might do, but again, I just didn't care. More and more, I felt myself drawn to take that path.
I woke every morning, and would sense a finger, beckoning me, motioning me, to take that path. And everyday I had to make a conscious effort, to find a reason, a reason why I shouldn't die that day. It didn't matter what the reason was, any simple, stupid reason would do. I need to get gas in the car, I need to watch the ballgame, I need to paint a model, I need to do anything that was achievable. If I could do that, then I would survive the day, and I could think about tomorrow, tomorrow.
I danced that dance everyday for what seemed like ages. In February, I thought I would be dead by Tax Day, from there, I didn't expect to see Memorial Day, and July 4th came as a complete surprise. This whole time I felt I should be dead, I was planning on being dead. But just as it doesn't care if you're alive, the Zoloft doesn't care if you're dead, either. Oh, sure, it tells you, you're going to die. It just doesn't have to be today. So, I continued the dance.
I took it for about a year and a half, until I realized, it had never done what I began taking it for in the first place, to ease the painful sadness. I no longer cried unexpectedly, but I still was as sad as ever. And I certainly didn't need the added complication of thoughts of death. So one day, I just stopped, stopped taking the little pill, and after a few days, its effects and influence were gone. That was when I made a terrible discovery. For, while the Zoloft allowed me to contemplate my own demise with callous dispassion, it also removed any urgency to actually do anything about it. It was an equation that zeroed itself out. It allowed me to be consumed with my own death, but would never have allowed me to act on it. I had been mistaken, the Zoloft had not removed the safety protocols, it had set them in place, even while it tortured me with dark thoughts. Now they were off, and the daily dance began in earnest.
I suppose I could have resumed taking the Zoloft, but I didn't like the way it made me feel, hadn't for a long time. I had never wanted to not care, I did want to care about people and things. I just didn't want the caring to paralyze me with sadness. And since it never really removed the sadness, I never went back to taking it. But I had been thinking about death daily, for eighteen months, and just not taking a pill would not change that. No, I continued to think about it, and I did the dance, and I felt the finger beckon, and one day, I looked down, and discovered my feet at the beginning of that path.
Now began the scariest time of all. It wasn't I wanted to die, I just felt that was the way I had to go, there was no other choice, there was no other way out. And slowly, I felt myself drawn down that path. Until one day, when I found myself at the edge, standing on the precipice, looking down into the abyss, staring at the darkness. I knew what that darkness was, and I didn't want to look at it, but the darkness is a seductress, and she held open her arms, and smiled at me. Let me take away the pain, the sadness, the loneliness. Leave all your cares, embrace me. Just one more step, be with me. Be free, love me. Everyday, I looked in her face, and everyday, I managed to take a step back. But I was not able to turn around, and everyday, I looked in her face, and everyday, it was harder to take a step back. Everyday, I looked in her face, and everyday, I looked longer. And everyday, she said, one more step, just one more step, until the day I felt my knee bend, my heel lift, and I started to lean forward, towards the comfort of death.
I'm not sure what it was I suddenly felt, a slap, a yank, a shout, and I was no longer looking into the darkness, but into my own hands, as they cradled my face, and I was weeping. Weeping bitter tears, bitter in the realization of how foolish I had been, how much time I had wasted, how I almost threw myself away. And in the bitter tears, I finally knew, knew I could not do this by myself, knew I would need help. That is when it really struck me, I didn't know how to ask for help. I had always been the one to give help, it was a part of my jobs for 40 years. I imagine over the years I have been offered help, and never took it, because I didn't recognize it. Or when I did recognize it, was too uncomfortable to accept. Somehow, I had conditioned myself to believe if I asked for help, or accepted help, I was a failure. So, it was to the sound of my sobbing that my sister, Kristi, answered her phone, and heard me pleading for help, that I didn't want to die, that I wanted to live. To be honest, I don't know if that is what she heard, I don't know if I was intelligible at all, but she could hear I needed help, and was soon by my side.
She calmed me, finally, and I was breathing normally, mostly. We discussed ways for me to seek help, and picked a course of action, and she helped me with the initial process. We set in motion some procedures that would have to be followed in a specific order, and in a non-specific time. That was what I wanted, a schedule to follow, a plan to adhere to, an order back in my like. I like order, and I felt there a path for me to follow. Kristi helped me with that first step, turning me around, away from the darkness, making me take a few steps, towards the light. That way was not exactly clear to me, but I saw it was towards the light, and I knew that is where I wanted to go. Kristi has always looked on me as her protector, but she is really mine, and I love her so much for what she has done.
Please continue with Part Three. Don
Thoughts on.....Me, Pt.1
Thoughts on.....You? That is rather a conceit, wouldn't you say? Yeah, Me. And why not? Sooner or later it had to be about.....me. My whole life revolves around .....me. And that is not a conceit. I learned many years ago I couldn't divorce myself from.....me. Everything that has ever happened in my life, has happened to.....me. The people I've met, the places I've been, the things I've done, the women I've loved- all of those things happened to.....me. And there were also those times that others didn't care for, didn't pay attention to, weren't interested in, couldn't find the time for.....me. Who I am- is all about.....me. So yeah.....Me.
I imagine most of you reading this, have come here through Facebook, and so will already know a little bit about me. Some of you have known me for many years, and know a greater bit about me. But to whatever degree you do know me, I believe you have detected a recent change in me. I think to some, it is a startling change, to others a profound change, and to me it is both of those. However, I am writing this now, to let everyone know, it is a positive change. And to take this opportunity to thank those who were instrumental in that change.
So really, these are thoughts on.....changes. I debated between that title, and the one I eventually chose, for more than a moment. The main theme of this article is about change, but since all the changes have happened to me, I think I will stay with.....Me.
If I were to pick a word that described the pervasive emotion I've felt throughout my life, I would have to pick- melancholy. Even when I was a child receiving a gift, doing well in high school, meeting and falling in love with my first wife, I always felt an incompleteness. I felt that something wasn't right, there was more I couldn't find, that something important was just beyond my grasp. Even during those times my life seemed to be going great, I could never shake those little doubts, the loneliness, the sadness, that weighed upon my heart. And that is how I felt through the good times. My life has hardly been a collection of good times. Mostly, I remember the bad times, the lonely times, the sad times. That was the template of life I had forced myself to fit.
As I sit here, right now, and look at how my life has brought to this moment, I can scarcely believe it. I can't say for sure where that young man, walking off the graduation field so long ago, thought life would lead him. I can say for sure, it wasn't the hell here. Don't get me entirely wrong, I met some special people, did some interesting things, became a father to a wonderful son. And I wouldn't trade the 18 years I spent with Eve for anything in the world. But through it all, there was always that feeling I wasn't whole.
During those good times, it would have been hard for most to recognize that melancholy, but during the sad times, even a blind man could not fail to see. It would manifest itself in self-destructive behavior, anger, even rage, and bitter depression. There was a period when I would regularly punch the towel dispenser, in the men's room, at Ruby Tuesday's. There was one night I went in- one punch-BOOM- clean of the wall. I went back to the bar, hand bloody, sat down, ordered another drink, and my friend, Pat, refused to serve me. Get out, he told me, I'm not ever serving you again. And that was the second time in a year he had done that. I would also pummel the side panels of my pickup truck, to where people thought I had been in an accident. Yeah, it had been in an accident.....me.
Once I met Eve a few years later, the physical nature of my self-destruction pretty much went away. I replaced it by letting myself go, not taking care of my health. To the point of, one day finding myself lying on an operating table, a surgeon performing a triple-bypass on my heart. For a while I felt I had been given a second chance, and lost weight, became stronger, felt better than I had in many years. But soon, my schedule, the pressures of work, not eating right, and financial troubles, caused me to fall back in my old ways. By this time, however, I became inured to the sadness permeating my heart, it being an unseen, yet always felt backdrop to my life.
So this was how I was, when I found myself sitting in a room, a terrible room, holding Eve's hand as we learned the truth, the terrible truth...........that she was going to die. And she did. In ten, short, terrible days, she was gone. And I say 'terrible' because I watched the woman I so loved, slip farther and farther away from me every day, a little more of her gone each day. And yet, I have to also say 'joyous,' as they were ten of the most tender, loving, magical days, and we shared intimacies so profound, they transcended any act of physical love we had ever made.
But, as I said, she died. And though I had those ten days to prepare, one can never really prepare, and her loss hit me very hard. There were a whole range of emotions, sadness of course, but also despair, and guilt. Sadness, when I realized I was never going to hear that laugh again, my heart will not thrill to see her over a crowded floor at Home Depot, I will never again feel that little shudder, as she touches the back of my neck unexpectedly. There was the despair, knowing I had to face the future alone, with no help, no guidance, no encouragement. And the guilt, that may have been the worst of all. To know she had died, but I was supposed to be the one to die. I was supposed to die, so she would get the insurance, so she could continue to stay in the house we built, the house we loved, the house we were going to spend the rest of our lives in. She was supposed to have that, the extra years in the house, and how could I ever spend another happy day in this house feeling I had failed her. I guess you could say we did spend the rest of our lives here, at least she did, but that was no comfort.
But, life goes on, that's what the trite saying tells us, and it does. On a couple of forums I belonged to, I told fellow members I wanted to live a life twice as full, to honor Eve. I put on a brave face, made an effort to smile. I tried to remain optimistic, but then there are the days that punch you in the gut. The day the man from the Funeral Parlor handed me the small cardboard box, the box with the plastic bag, the bag with the twist tie at the top, the bag full of dull gray powder, that I could not distinguish from cement. The first Valentine's Day, only 14 days after her death, the first Valentine's Day we spent apart in 18 years. The day I gathered up her clothes, the clothes to give to charity, and there were her negligees, and her bras, and her special panties, the special panties that were only meant for me. I couldn't give them away, not those things that were so especially Eve. But what then could I do? I couldn't keep them, and I couldn't give them away. I cried, cried tears of betrayal, as I placed these precious articles in the trash, betrayal that I might be discarding her memory like it was trash, betrayal that I might be denying the life we had spent together. That may have been the worst day.
As winter passed into spring, I tried to adopt a normal routine, and for a while I did. I would go shopping, or to the library, or anywhere to get me out of the house, and not so much because I wanted to be out of the house, but because I felt I should be out of the house. But as summer moved into autumn, I began to fall back in my old ways, the constant sadness and foreboding, heavy on my heart. I was sleeping only a few hours a night, and the sleep I did get did nothing to renew, to refresh me. I started to ask myself if I could go on, or if I even wanted to go on. Those are thoughts I didn't want to entertain, because if you turn to take that path, no good can come from it.
I hope you will continue to Part Two. Don
I imagine most of you reading this, have come here through Facebook, and so will already know a little bit about me. Some of you have known me for many years, and know a greater bit about me. But to whatever degree you do know me, I believe you have detected a recent change in me. I think to some, it is a startling change, to others a profound change, and to me it is both of those. However, I am writing this now, to let everyone know, it is a positive change. And to take this opportunity to thank those who were instrumental in that change.
So really, these are thoughts on.....changes. I debated between that title, and the one I eventually chose, for more than a moment. The main theme of this article is about change, but since all the changes have happened to me, I think I will stay with.....Me.
If I were to pick a word that described the pervasive emotion I've felt throughout my life, I would have to pick- melancholy. Even when I was a child receiving a gift, doing well in high school, meeting and falling in love with my first wife, I always felt an incompleteness. I felt that something wasn't right, there was more I couldn't find, that something important was just beyond my grasp. Even during those times my life seemed to be going great, I could never shake those little doubts, the loneliness, the sadness, that weighed upon my heart. And that is how I felt through the good times. My life has hardly been a collection of good times. Mostly, I remember the bad times, the lonely times, the sad times. That was the template of life I had forced myself to fit.
As I sit here, right now, and look at how my life has brought to this moment, I can scarcely believe it. I can't say for sure where that young man, walking off the graduation field so long ago, thought life would lead him. I can say for sure, it wasn't the hell here. Don't get me entirely wrong, I met some special people, did some interesting things, became a father to a wonderful son. And I wouldn't trade the 18 years I spent with Eve for anything in the world. But through it all, there was always that feeling I wasn't whole.
During those good times, it would have been hard for most to recognize that melancholy, but during the sad times, even a blind man could not fail to see. It would manifest itself in self-destructive behavior, anger, even rage, and bitter depression. There was a period when I would regularly punch the towel dispenser, in the men's room, at Ruby Tuesday's. There was one night I went in- one punch-BOOM- clean of the wall. I went back to the bar, hand bloody, sat down, ordered another drink, and my friend, Pat, refused to serve me. Get out, he told me, I'm not ever serving you again. And that was the second time in a year he had done that. I would also pummel the side panels of my pickup truck, to where people thought I had been in an accident. Yeah, it had been in an accident.....me.
Once I met Eve a few years later, the physical nature of my self-destruction pretty much went away. I replaced it by letting myself go, not taking care of my health. To the point of, one day finding myself lying on an operating table, a surgeon performing a triple-bypass on my heart. For a while I felt I had been given a second chance, and lost weight, became stronger, felt better than I had in many years. But soon, my schedule, the pressures of work, not eating right, and financial troubles, caused me to fall back in my old ways. By this time, however, I became inured to the sadness permeating my heart, it being an unseen, yet always felt backdrop to my life.
So this was how I was, when I found myself sitting in a room, a terrible room, holding Eve's hand as we learned the truth, the terrible truth...........that she was going to die. And she did. In ten, short, terrible days, she was gone. And I say 'terrible' because I watched the woman I so loved, slip farther and farther away from me every day, a little more of her gone each day. And yet, I have to also say 'joyous,' as they were ten of the most tender, loving, magical days, and we shared intimacies so profound, they transcended any act of physical love we had ever made.
But, as I said, she died. And though I had those ten days to prepare, one can never really prepare, and her loss hit me very hard. There were a whole range of emotions, sadness of course, but also despair, and guilt. Sadness, when I realized I was never going to hear that laugh again, my heart will not thrill to see her over a crowded floor at Home Depot, I will never again feel that little shudder, as she touches the back of my neck unexpectedly. There was the despair, knowing I had to face the future alone, with no help, no guidance, no encouragement. And the guilt, that may have been the worst of all. To know she had died, but I was supposed to be the one to die. I was supposed to die, so she would get the insurance, so she could continue to stay in the house we built, the house we loved, the house we were going to spend the rest of our lives in. She was supposed to have that, the extra years in the house, and how could I ever spend another happy day in this house feeling I had failed her. I guess you could say we did spend the rest of our lives here, at least she did, but that was no comfort.
But, life goes on, that's what the trite saying tells us, and it does. On a couple of forums I belonged to, I told fellow members I wanted to live a life twice as full, to honor Eve. I put on a brave face, made an effort to smile. I tried to remain optimistic, but then there are the days that punch you in the gut. The day the man from the Funeral Parlor handed me the small cardboard box, the box with the plastic bag, the bag with the twist tie at the top, the bag full of dull gray powder, that I could not distinguish from cement. The first Valentine's Day, only 14 days after her death, the first Valentine's Day we spent apart in 18 years. The day I gathered up her clothes, the clothes to give to charity, and there were her negligees, and her bras, and her special panties, the special panties that were only meant for me. I couldn't give them away, not those things that were so especially Eve. But what then could I do? I couldn't keep them, and I couldn't give them away. I cried, cried tears of betrayal, as I placed these precious articles in the trash, betrayal that I might be discarding her memory like it was trash, betrayal that I might be denying the life we had spent together. That may have been the worst day.
As winter passed into spring, I tried to adopt a normal routine, and for a while I did. I would go shopping, or to the library, or anywhere to get me out of the house, and not so much because I wanted to be out of the house, but because I felt I should be out of the house. But as summer moved into autumn, I began to fall back in my old ways, the constant sadness and foreboding, heavy on my heart. I was sleeping only a few hours a night, and the sleep I did get did nothing to renew, to refresh me. I started to ask myself if I could go on, or if I even wanted to go on. Those are thoughts I didn't want to entertain, because if you turn to take that path, no good can come from it.
I hope you will continue to Part Two. Don
Monday, August 12, 2013
Thoughts on.....Nipples
I like nipples, and I don't care who knows it!!
Yeah, it's true, I can't deny it. I think it has something to do with all the hours I spend...........being a male. Face it ladies, we're kinda wired that way. Can't help it, same as liking the Three Stooges. I have to say, I prefer nipples to the Stooges, and not just because nipples come in colors, while the Stooges are black and white. Which brings us to the subject of this Thought, the color of nipples. I have set up a poll to the right, absolutely anonymous, asking if you have Pinks or Brownies. You aren't sure??? Okay, I am willing to help, simply send me a picture of yours, and I will determine for you the correct answer. Or, you can go stand in front of your mirror. Pull up your top, then pull up your bra. What, you aren't wearing a bra??? This ain't the '70s, ya damn hippie, put on a bra!!! Once you are wearing a bra, pull it up, I haven't got all day, y'know! Now, look at your nipples, they should both be the same color. If they are, ask yourself, do they appear to be pink, or do they appear to be brown. If they are not the same color, PLEASE send me a picture. Once you are absolutely sure of your nipples' color, check the appropriate circle. Once that is done, if you feel compelled to, you may apply lotion, oil, ice, it's totally up to you. The Supreme Court has repeatedly ruled a woman's right to have her own nipples in the privacy of her home to be undeniable.
Why am I doing this? For kicks and giggles mostly. It's not like I can't guess based on the color of your hair, and be correct 90% of the time. Think of it as liberating, as being able to get something off your chest. At least figuratively.
You must be 18 to participate. Unless you think you won't be caught. No, no, you must be 18.
Thank you for your participation. Don
Yeah, it's true, I can't deny it. I think it has something to do with all the hours I spend...........being a male. Face it ladies, we're kinda wired that way. Can't help it, same as liking the Three Stooges. I have to say, I prefer nipples to the Stooges, and not just because nipples come in colors, while the Stooges are black and white. Which brings us to the subject of this Thought, the color of nipples. I have set up a poll to the right, absolutely anonymous, asking if you have Pinks or Brownies. You aren't sure??? Okay, I am willing to help, simply send me a picture of yours, and I will determine for you the correct answer. Or, you can go stand in front of your mirror. Pull up your top, then pull up your bra. What, you aren't wearing a bra??? This ain't the '70s, ya damn hippie, put on a bra!!! Once you are wearing a bra, pull it up, I haven't got all day, y'know! Now, look at your nipples, they should both be the same color. If they are, ask yourself, do they appear to be pink, or do they appear to be brown. If they are not the same color, PLEASE send me a picture. Once you are absolutely sure of your nipples' color, check the appropriate circle. Once that is done, if you feel compelled to, you may apply lotion, oil, ice, it's totally up to you. The Supreme Court has repeatedly ruled a woman's right to have her own nipples in the privacy of her home to be undeniable.
Why am I doing this? For kicks and giggles mostly. It's not like I can't guess based on the color of your hair, and be correct 90% of the time. Think of it as liberating, as being able to get something off your chest. At least figuratively.
You must be 18 to participate. Unless you think you won't be caught. No, no, you must be 18.
Thank you for your participation. Don
Sunday, August 11, 2013
Thoughts on.....Woulda, Shoulda, Coulda.
Look, I'm not necessarily proud of this, but back in 1989 I joined a Co-dependency Support Group, mainly to get laid. As I reasoned, where better to find a group of vulnerable women, who with just a little manipulation, I could make succumb to my nefarious charms. And as the only rooster amongst twelve (overall attractive) hens, the odds were definitely in my favor. And ultimately I did hook-up with one, the one who introduced me to the group, the one who was my initial target anyway.
Now I'm sure there are those of you who have already seen the flaw in my logic. In my defense I plead ........I was not getting laid enough. A defense I know the men whom reading this are readily accepting, while the women are tsk, tsk, tsk-ing me with stern glances. (At least those women who are getting laid enough.) However, I did not see the flaw until it was too late. When I finally did, it was a real slap in the face. Literally. You see, for the most part, women who belong to Co-dependent Support Groups are, in a word....................CRAZY!! (Now if you are reading this, and are a member of such a group, well.........I'm sure you're not.) And she was. We hung out for about a month, and I spent an increasing amount of time at her place. As time progressed though, I noticed her moods would fluctuate dramatically at the slightest trigger. I found myself walking on eggshells, and one night for no reason I could discern, she simply snapped. We were having a pleasant conversation on an innocuous subject, both of us smiling, when she hauled off and slapped my face as hard as she could. OK, I told her, I'll just leave and talk to you tomorrow. Then she really went berserk, screaming and crying, striking my shoulders repeatedly with her fists. She was a strong women, and I knew I would not be able to subdue her without hurting her, so I waited for her calm down. We went to bed, but before she came in the room, I heard her in the kitchen, rustling through the silverware drawer. I just know she came to bed with a knife, and I slept as physically close to her as possible, hoping she would not get enough leverage to skewer me properly. You've heard the phrase sleeping with one eye open I'm sure. I am here to tell you it can be done. In the morning I let her use the bathroom first, and as soon as I heard the shower start, threw on enough clothes to keep me from being arrested, snatched up the rest of my stuff, tossed it all in the back of the pick-up, and spun the tires getting out of there.
On a more positive note, she did get me to eat more grilled fish.
And the important note she taught me, a basic tenet one learns in a Co-dependency Support Group, is the destructive nature of using the word 'Should.' People rarely react positively when told they should do something. People are defensive when told they should do this. People usually don't hear anything after being told they should do that. Once pointed out to me, it made so much sense. And I used should all the time, positive that my advice to a person was the best alternative for them to consider. How could I have been so arrogant, especially once I realized I usually rejected anything after being told I should do it. By using should, we are usurping that other person's right to make their own decisions. It is up to them to decide what should be done.
If you want to give a person advice, or offer them alternative solutions or positions, simply let them know what they could do. Change on single letter and the aggressive 'should' becomes the benign 'could.' It is a helpful word, 'who doesn't want to know what they could do?' It is non-threatening, 'you could consider this.' Could allows a person to consider other possibilities without the obligation of accepting them. Could leaves the ultimate decision to that person. I know I respond more positively to could, and since that time have tried to minimize my use of should.
I think youshould could also.
Don
Now I'm sure there are those of you who have already seen the flaw in my logic. In my defense I plead ........I was not getting laid enough. A defense I know the men whom reading this are readily accepting, while the women are tsk, tsk, tsk-ing me with stern glances. (At least those women who are getting laid enough.) However, I did not see the flaw until it was too late. When I finally did, it was a real slap in the face. Literally. You see, for the most part, women who belong to Co-dependent Support Groups are, in a word....................CRAZY!! (Now if you are reading this, and are a member of such a group, well.........I'm sure you're not.) And she was. We hung out for about a month, and I spent an increasing amount of time at her place. As time progressed though, I noticed her moods would fluctuate dramatically at the slightest trigger. I found myself walking on eggshells, and one night for no reason I could discern, she simply snapped. We were having a pleasant conversation on an innocuous subject, both of us smiling, when she hauled off and slapped my face as hard as she could. OK, I told her, I'll just leave and talk to you tomorrow. Then she really went berserk, screaming and crying, striking my shoulders repeatedly with her fists. She was a strong women, and I knew I would not be able to subdue her without hurting her, so I waited for her calm down. We went to bed, but before she came in the room, I heard her in the kitchen, rustling through the silverware drawer. I just know she came to bed with a knife, and I slept as physically close to her as possible, hoping she would not get enough leverage to skewer me properly. You've heard the phrase sleeping with one eye open I'm sure. I am here to tell you it can be done. In the morning I let her use the bathroom first, and as soon as I heard the shower start, threw on enough clothes to keep me from being arrested, snatched up the rest of my stuff, tossed it all in the back of the pick-up, and spun the tires getting out of there.
On a more positive note, she did get me to eat more grilled fish.
And the important note she taught me, a basic tenet one learns in a Co-dependency Support Group, is the destructive nature of using the word 'Should.' People rarely react positively when told they should do something. People are defensive when told they should do this. People usually don't hear anything after being told they should do that. Once pointed out to me, it made so much sense. And I used should all the time, positive that my advice to a person was the best alternative for them to consider. How could I have been so arrogant, especially once I realized I usually rejected anything after being told I should do it. By using should, we are usurping that other person's right to make their own decisions. It is up to them to decide what should be done.
If you want to give a person advice, or offer them alternative solutions or positions, simply let them know what they could do. Change on single letter and the aggressive 'should' becomes the benign 'could.' It is a helpful word, 'who doesn't want to know what they could do?' It is non-threatening, 'you could consider this.' Could allows a person to consider other possibilities without the obligation of accepting them. Could leaves the ultimate decision to that person. I know I respond more positively to could, and since that time have tried to minimize my use of should.
I think you
Don
Friday, August 9, 2013
Thoughts on.....Those Infinite Monkeys, and Their LOVE of Shakespeare!
There are rules about defining words, none more important than not using that word, or a derivation, in the definition. I think the word most difficult with which to follow that rule is Infinity, even more so than God. (Though there are undoubtedly many who would define either with the other. Thought for a different day.) Douglas Adams tried to define it in the "Hitchhiker's Guide" with the Total Perspective Vortex, a totally diabolical device that, once placed in, shows you the whole hugeness of space, with a barely discernible point and an arrow pointing to it that says, "You are here." The realization of your insignificance to the whole of Creation would drive you insane. I am probably already insane, and long ago embraced my insignificance, so let us press on. You may follow at your own risk.
In Junior High, the standard way to define the concept of Infinity was with this example: If an infinite number of monkeys typed randomly on an infinite number of typewriters, one of them would write the complete works of Shakespeare. (Randomly? Like a monkey is going to type specifically?) I think it shows the absolute largeness of Infinity due to having to use a derivative word twice in our definition. Why monkeys, with their little fez' on their heads and nasty little, feces-encrusted fingers? Quite simply because horseshoe crabs found it impossible to hold down the 'Shift' key and the '7' key simultaneously, preventing them from producing an ampersand. Besides, the infinite sand and the infinite surf from the infinite beaches the infinite horseshoe crabs required would play hell with the inner workings of the infinite typewriters. (So, as can be plainly seen, Infinity is mostly just a matter of logistics.) And why Typewriters? Wouldn't a computer with a good word processing program be better? Not better necessarily, but you could certainly reach Infinity much more quickly. Finally, why Shakespeare? Because no self-respecting, infinite monkey would write that shit on purpose. Awwww, "Et tu, Brute?"
So let's update the definition: If an infinite number of chimpanzees (with cowboy hats) randomly struck an infinite number of keyboards, one of them would write the complete works of Shakespeare. Why 'cowboy hats?' Why does there always have to be a reason?! I just like cowboy hats, alright?! Unfortunately, there was no room in the infinite budget for the matching infinite chaps. (That's strange, you'd think there would be.) And why chimpanzees? Because cowboy hats make monkeys look ludicrous. Jeez, give me a break.
So now we have a definition. Could it be correct? Yes, yes, yes! (Could it be Benjamin? Yes, yes. yes! Extra credit for referencing this remark.)
Yes, one of the chimps will write the complete works of Shakespeare...............George Shakespeare, whose complete library of works consisted solely of volumes of random letters, and mostly ampersands. (Oh didn't see that one coming, did you?) Conveniently, the nature of Infinity means that one of the chimps will also write the complete works of William Shakespeare.
"Okay, we get it," you think to yourselves, "Infinity is just f&cking big. Thanks for the lesson, be seein' ya." First of all, I don't like your language. That is a totally inappropriate use of an ampersand, and horseshoe crabs would have the balls to spell the word properly......if horseshoe crabs had balls, I guess. And second of all, "Wait, come back, there's more, Infinity can get bigger." Echo, echo, echo. That's right, bigger. Well, not so much Infinity getting bigger, but your perception of it getting bigger.
Okay, this first one wrote the complete works, and let's say he got all the plays in alphabetical order, followed by all the sonnets in alphabetical order. Sounds reasonable. Now, another one will write the complete works, except the sonnets come first, then the plays, but still in alphabetical order. But wait, a third one writes the complete works, but does not separate the plays from the sonnets, yet maintains an alphabetical order. Then comes the joker, the one who writes the complete works, but says, "To hell with the alphabetical order." (Not really sure of a chimpanzee's concept of hell, but I imagine it involves a cowboy hat.) Of course, there must be a fifth one who randomly wrote the complete works as the first one did, except switched the first play with the second. Ah, I think you might be seeing where I am going. Infinity is expanding, expanding faster than my waistline at an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet. Think about all the different arrangements you can make with all the plays and sonnets. How many? I think the mathematical operation factorial will calculate that number for you. "Factorial?" your pathetic eyes implore, "what is factorial?" Damn it, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a mathematician. Look it up, even chimpanzees in cowboy hats know how to Google, when they're not writing "Macbeth."
So, Infinity seems to be a lot of little infinities piled on top of each other. Not sure you can make piles of Infinity, but is does seem a little larger. Can we up the ante? Sure. Let's go back to that first one, who wrote the complete works in alphabetical order. Out of the remaining infinite chimps (and don't bother to point out 'infinite' and 'remaining' are mutually exclusive, I know), one, say the 49,257,605th one (Why 49,257,605? It's my lucky number, of course.), will get it exactly the same, ...............except, the first letter of the first play will be wrong, it will be one of the other 25 letters. This means that 24 other ones will do the same thing, each with a different letter. And actually, it isn't limited to letters, it must include numbers, spaces, and punctuation marks. We don't stop with the letter in the first position, we continue repeating the procedure with the second position, the third position, the fourth, the fifth, sixth, seventh, ............phew, until every position in the first one's list has been changed. But we're not done. The same thing will happen with all the other letters, numbers, spaces, and punctuation marks as the second one originally wrote. Then we do the same to the third one. In fact this will happen to every one of the permutations we did originally. That is a lot of different near-copies of the complete works of Shakespeare. I sure hope we are saving them all to flash drives. Imagine how many trees we would have to kill to print them out. No need to imagine, it would be all of them.
My head is starting to hurt, but until my ears start to bleed, let's press on. We go back to the chimp above, the first to have an incorrect letter, the 49,257,605th one. (God, I love that number.) Somewhere, another one, who knows, might even be sitting beside the 49,257,605th one (What are the odds of that? Don't know, but in an infinite universe, it isn't zero.) will type it exactly the same.............. except instead of just the first letter (position) being wrong, the first and second letter are wrong. Before proceeding, we apply this permutation to the second group above, which of course is factored by the first group. Then we come back and change the first and third position, then the second and tenth, the 200,047th and 301,489th position. When every combination of two positions has been exhausted, we move to three positions, then five positions, then 105,288, until all the positions are done. In fact, if you place every letter, number, space, and punctuation mark of each example in the first group in a grid, for every one of them, there will be one that will not have a single letter, number, space, or punctuation mark in the same grid location. Do I hear blood in my ear canals?
Earlier I asked Why Shakespeare? Why not Zane Grey. Why not Robert Ludlum? Mark Twain? James Joyce, Emily Dickinson, Sun Tzu, Homer? And why not the instructions on a TV dinner, or the warning label on a bottle of Celebrex? One chimpanzee will randomly write all of these things individually. And there will be one each for all the variations above. Continuing, there will be one who will write the complete works of Shakespeare and Zane Grey. One who will write Shakespeare and Ludlum. One who will write all of Twain and Joyce. Shakespeare, Homer, Verne, Dumas, and the label of a bottle of shampoo. (Rinse and repeat, indeed.) One of these infinite chimps will surely, by total accident, produce the complete collection of every written word created by the thought of man. That means a second one will do it too, just in another order. In fact, there will be a lot of different orders. Don't forget all the other ones who will create all the variations from the three applications above. Finally, there will be one sad chimp who won't get a single goddamn thing right. "Ooooooooo, sorry. Johnny, what do we have as a parting gift for this contestant? Well Alex, from Christian Dior, we have this lovely cowboy hat, with matching chaps. Thanks for playing."
So, Infinity, hmmmmm, pretty big I guess. We've taken the original premise, which seemed huge at first, especially to a seventh grader, and expanded it to a much larger concept. Larger, but we still have one more thing to consider, and it is what makes Infinity so hard to grasp. In all my examples above, I have used 'one' as the number of chimps achieving a result, and that is exactly true, if not perfectly true. In fact (and I think some of you are ahead of me on this), in every instance I used one, I should have used infinite.
Drops microphone, walks offstage. (Thunderous applause.)
Don
In Junior High, the standard way to define the concept of Infinity was with this example: If an infinite number of monkeys typed randomly on an infinite number of typewriters, one of them would write the complete works of Shakespeare. (Randomly? Like a monkey is going to type specifically?) I think it shows the absolute largeness of Infinity due to having to use a derivative word twice in our definition. Why monkeys, with their little fez' on their heads and nasty little, feces-encrusted fingers? Quite simply because horseshoe crabs found it impossible to hold down the 'Shift' key and the '7' key simultaneously, preventing them from producing an ampersand. Besides, the infinite sand and the infinite surf from the infinite beaches the infinite horseshoe crabs required would play hell with the inner workings of the infinite typewriters. (So, as can be plainly seen, Infinity is mostly just a matter of logistics.) And why Typewriters? Wouldn't a computer with a good word processing program be better? Not better necessarily, but you could certainly reach Infinity much more quickly. Finally, why Shakespeare? Because no self-respecting, infinite monkey would write that shit on purpose. Awwww, "Et tu, Brute?"
So let's update the definition: If an infinite number of chimpanzees (with cowboy hats) randomly struck an infinite number of keyboards, one of them would write the complete works of Shakespeare. Why 'cowboy hats?' Why does there always have to be a reason?! I just like cowboy hats, alright?! Unfortunately, there was no room in the infinite budget for the matching infinite chaps. (That's strange, you'd think there would be.) And why chimpanzees? Because cowboy hats make monkeys look ludicrous. Jeez, give me a break.
So now we have a definition. Could it be correct? Yes, yes, yes! (Could it be Benjamin? Yes, yes. yes! Extra credit for referencing this remark.)
Yes, one of the chimps will write the complete works of Shakespeare...............George Shakespeare, whose complete library of works consisted solely of volumes of random letters, and mostly ampersands. (Oh didn't see that one coming, did you?) Conveniently, the nature of Infinity means that one of the chimps will also write the complete works of William Shakespeare.
"Okay, we get it," you think to yourselves, "Infinity is just f&cking big. Thanks for the lesson, be seein' ya." First of all, I don't like your language. That is a totally inappropriate use of an ampersand, and horseshoe crabs would have the balls to spell the word properly......if horseshoe crabs had balls, I guess. And second of all, "Wait, come back, there's more, Infinity can get bigger." Echo, echo, echo. That's right, bigger. Well, not so much Infinity getting bigger, but your perception of it getting bigger.
Okay, this first one wrote the complete works, and let's say he got all the plays in alphabetical order, followed by all the sonnets in alphabetical order. Sounds reasonable. Now, another one will write the complete works, except the sonnets come first, then the plays, but still in alphabetical order. But wait, a third one writes the complete works, but does not separate the plays from the sonnets, yet maintains an alphabetical order. Then comes the joker, the one who writes the complete works, but says, "To hell with the alphabetical order." (Not really sure of a chimpanzee's concept of hell, but I imagine it involves a cowboy hat.) Of course, there must be a fifth one who randomly wrote the complete works as the first one did, except switched the first play with the second. Ah, I think you might be seeing where I am going. Infinity is expanding, expanding faster than my waistline at an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet. Think about all the different arrangements you can make with all the plays and sonnets. How many? I think the mathematical operation factorial will calculate that number for you. "Factorial?" your pathetic eyes implore, "what is factorial?" Damn it, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a mathematician. Look it up, even chimpanzees in cowboy hats know how to Google, when they're not writing "Macbeth."
So, Infinity seems to be a lot of little infinities piled on top of each other. Not sure you can make piles of Infinity, but is does seem a little larger. Can we up the ante? Sure. Let's go back to that first one, who wrote the complete works in alphabetical order. Out of the remaining infinite chimps (and don't bother to point out 'infinite' and 'remaining' are mutually exclusive, I know), one, say the 49,257,605th one (Why 49,257,605? It's my lucky number, of course.), will get it exactly the same, ...............except, the first letter of the first play will be wrong, it will be one of the other 25 letters. This means that 24 other ones will do the same thing, each with a different letter. And actually, it isn't limited to letters, it must include numbers, spaces, and punctuation marks. We don't stop with the letter in the first position, we continue repeating the procedure with the second position, the third position, the fourth, the fifth, sixth, seventh, ............phew, until every position in the first one's list has been changed. But we're not done. The same thing will happen with all the other letters, numbers, spaces, and punctuation marks as the second one originally wrote. Then we do the same to the third one. In fact this will happen to every one of the permutations we did originally. That is a lot of different near-copies of the complete works of Shakespeare. I sure hope we are saving them all to flash drives. Imagine how many trees we would have to kill to print them out. No need to imagine, it would be all of them.
My head is starting to hurt, but until my ears start to bleed, let's press on. We go back to the chimp above, the first to have an incorrect letter, the 49,257,605th one. (God, I love that number.) Somewhere, another one, who knows, might even be sitting beside the 49,257,605th one (What are the odds of that? Don't know, but in an infinite universe, it isn't zero.) will type it exactly the same.............. except instead of just the first letter (position) being wrong, the first and second letter are wrong. Before proceeding, we apply this permutation to the second group above, which of course is factored by the first group. Then we come back and change the first and third position, then the second and tenth, the 200,047th and 301,489th position. When every combination of two positions has been exhausted, we move to three positions, then five positions, then 105,288, until all the positions are done. In fact, if you place every letter, number, space, and punctuation mark of each example in the first group in a grid, for every one of them, there will be one that will not have a single letter, number, space, or punctuation mark in the same grid location. Do I hear blood in my ear canals?
Earlier I asked Why Shakespeare? Why not Zane Grey. Why not Robert Ludlum? Mark Twain? James Joyce, Emily Dickinson, Sun Tzu, Homer? And why not the instructions on a TV dinner, or the warning label on a bottle of Celebrex? One chimpanzee will randomly write all of these things individually. And there will be one each for all the variations above. Continuing, there will be one who will write the complete works of Shakespeare and Zane Grey. One who will write Shakespeare and Ludlum. One who will write all of Twain and Joyce. Shakespeare, Homer, Verne, Dumas, and the label of a bottle of shampoo. (Rinse and repeat, indeed.) One of these infinite chimps will surely, by total accident, produce the complete collection of every written word created by the thought of man. That means a second one will do it too, just in another order. In fact, there will be a lot of different orders. Don't forget all the other ones who will create all the variations from the three applications above. Finally, there will be one sad chimp who won't get a single goddamn thing right. "Ooooooooo, sorry. Johnny, what do we have as a parting gift for this contestant? Well Alex, from Christian Dior, we have this lovely cowboy hat, with matching chaps. Thanks for playing."
So, Infinity, hmmmmm, pretty big I guess. We've taken the original premise, which seemed huge at first, especially to a seventh grader, and expanded it to a much larger concept. Larger, but we still have one more thing to consider, and it is what makes Infinity so hard to grasp. In all my examples above, I have used 'one' as the number of chimps achieving a result, and that is exactly true, if not perfectly true. In fact (and I think some of you are ahead of me on this), in every instance I used one, I should have used infinite.
Drops microphone, walks offstage. (Thunderous applause.)
Don
Friday, August 2, 2013
Zeppelins? I Prefer Blimps!
People who know me, especially those from my hometown of Fairborn, Ohio, know of my fondness for a Giovanni's Pizza. Thin and crispy, a large pepperoni, sausage, and onion was my favorite. Every girl I ever dated has had at least one, while listening to "Layla," "Maggie May," and "Ramblin' Man" on the jukebox. I loved that place, and ate there all the time. And as much as I loved the pizza, I loved their cooked submarine sandwich, The Blimp. Eight inches of crispy goodness, rarely did I eat one without the other.
In 1976, my company transferred me to Lansing, Michigan. ......................Michigan, land of the thick pizza and cold subs. I couldn't believe it, they ate their pizza with forks. Forks! Damn..... forks. And when I asked them for a cooked sub, they just stood there limp, eyes glazed over, spit starting to collect at the corners of their slack jaws. Hey, I'm not asking you to mangle baby ducks, I just want you to cook a sub for me. My words fell on deaf ears, which were beginning to trickle blood by that time. Hot sub, how can we put half a head of shredded lettuce on a hot sub? They put half a head of shredded lettuce on every sandwich. God, I missed my Giovanni's.
Anyway, I eventually found a place, Sir Pizza, that had a decent thin-crust pie. Not Giovanni's quality, but passable. (After time, I even learned to eat pizza with a fork.) But nowhere did I ever find a hot, cooked sub sandwich, not even at Little Caesar's, which is incredible when you consider the average temperature inside a Little Caesar's runs upward of 150º. It was then I began my quest for the perfect Blimp Clone. I tried every combination of exotic meats made from endangered species, umpteen dozen different breads and rolls, sauces that hadn't even been invented yet, and cheeses that had to be smuggled in from Europe. But nothing was even close. Oh sure, I had some excellent sandwiches, but none were my favorite Blimp.
I moved to Florida in 1985, and my quest came with me. As I continued to experiment, I came to a few conclusions. The most important (and hardest to accept) was that I used to many types of meat on a single sandwich, or that I used too much meat on a single sandwich. (Five meats, an inch thick proved just too much.) Another thing was the sauce. In Michigan, Appian Way pizza sauce was the closest I could find to Giovanni's, but was not available in Florida. For the cheese, mozzarella or provolone was perfect. The bun was the hardest component to match. About eight inches long, Giovanni's was a dense bun that cooked up crisp throughout. I was ordering at the counter one afternoon when they got a delivery, so I saw they came in a three-pack made by Pepperidge Farm. That must be a commercial package, because I've never found them in any grocery store, at least here in SW Florida. (The 3-pack of PF Soft Hoagie Rolls are not the same.) Then one day, the local Publix started carrying a Pepperidge Farm Hearth Baked Style Twin French bread. The label promised that it 'cooked up crisp,' so I tried it, and it was very close. Not quite as dense, or crisp, but the taste was almost there. So after 25 years, I was making some tasty subs, but still not the Blimp.
In 1999, I returned to Fairborn for my father's funeral. After the visitation, the cousins and grand kids all went to Giovanni's, right down the street from the funeral home. It had moved a few doors down, and enlarged, but DAMN, it tasted as delicious as it ever had. We ate there, but I made sure to order a pizza to go. And a Blimp. Just as I had dreamed about for years. Ahhhhhhhhh........ As I was paying the bill, I asked what was on the Blimp, and to my surprise, he told me. Bologna, salami, hot ham. Really, that's it, that's all? It's that simple? It's that simple. The final pieces fell into place.
Those of you like me, who loved Giovanni's Blimps, but live nowhere close, try this recipe. It's not an exact copy, but I think you'll enjoy it. Those of you who do live close..............well, what the Hell are you waiting for?! Times a' wastin', get to Giovanni's right now.
Here are what you need. Cookie sheet and knives, PF Twin French bread, your favorite pizza sauce (I'd try Appian Way, if available.), mild banana peppers, provolone (or mozzarella), rough-chopped onion, hot cappicola (thin sliced), salami, and bologna. Pre-heat the oven to 425º.
For a crispy crust, the instructions say to sprinkle the loaf with water. I usually wet my fingers, then 'flick' them at the top and bottom. Then slice nearly through, leaving a 'hinge.' To crisp the inside, I cook this for 3 minutes first.
Alternate, and overlap, the bologna.
Alternate the salami, then the hot cappy, finally the cheese. Top with a few onions, plus some mild banana peppers. (The authentic Blimp has the peppers, though I always had them removed.)
Cook for an additional five minutes, until the loaf's edges are brown and crispy.
Cut and enjoy.
In 1976, my company transferred me to Lansing, Michigan. ......................Michigan, land of the thick pizza and cold subs. I couldn't believe it, they ate their pizza with forks. Forks! Damn..... forks. And when I asked them for a cooked sub, they just stood there limp, eyes glazed over, spit starting to collect at the corners of their slack jaws. Hey, I'm not asking you to mangle baby ducks, I just want you to cook a sub for me. My words fell on deaf ears, which were beginning to trickle blood by that time. Hot sub, how can we put half a head of shredded lettuce on a hot sub? They put half a head of shredded lettuce on every sandwich. God, I missed my Giovanni's.
Anyway, I eventually found a place, Sir Pizza, that had a decent thin-crust pie. Not Giovanni's quality, but passable. (After time, I even learned to eat pizza with a fork.) But nowhere did I ever find a hot, cooked sub sandwich, not even at Little Caesar's, which is incredible when you consider the average temperature inside a Little Caesar's runs upward of 150º. It was then I began my quest for the perfect Blimp Clone. I tried every combination of exotic meats made from endangered species, umpteen dozen different breads and rolls, sauces that hadn't even been invented yet, and cheeses that had to be smuggled in from Europe. But nothing was even close. Oh sure, I had some excellent sandwiches, but none were my favorite Blimp.
I moved to Florida in 1985, and my quest came with me. As I continued to experiment, I came to a few conclusions. The most important (and hardest to accept) was that I used to many types of meat on a single sandwich, or that I used too much meat on a single sandwich. (Five meats, an inch thick proved just too much.) Another thing was the sauce. In Michigan, Appian Way pizza sauce was the closest I could find to Giovanni's, but was not available in Florida. For the cheese, mozzarella or provolone was perfect. The bun was the hardest component to match. About eight inches long, Giovanni's was a dense bun that cooked up crisp throughout. I was ordering at the counter one afternoon when they got a delivery, so I saw they came in a three-pack made by Pepperidge Farm. That must be a commercial package, because I've never found them in any grocery store, at least here in SW Florida. (The 3-pack of PF Soft Hoagie Rolls are not the same.) Then one day, the local Publix started carrying a Pepperidge Farm Hearth Baked Style Twin French bread. The label promised that it 'cooked up crisp,' so I tried it, and it was very close. Not quite as dense, or crisp, but the taste was almost there. So after 25 years, I was making some tasty subs, but still not the Blimp.
In 1999, I returned to Fairborn for my father's funeral. After the visitation, the cousins and grand kids all went to Giovanni's, right down the street from the funeral home. It had moved a few doors down, and enlarged, but DAMN, it tasted as delicious as it ever had. We ate there, but I made sure to order a pizza to go. And a Blimp. Just as I had dreamed about for years. Ahhhhhhhhh........ As I was paying the bill, I asked what was on the Blimp, and to my surprise, he told me. Bologna, salami, hot ham. Really, that's it, that's all? It's that simple? It's that simple. The final pieces fell into place.
Those of you like me, who loved Giovanni's Blimps, but live nowhere close, try this recipe. It's not an exact copy, but I think you'll enjoy it. Those of you who do live close..............well, what the Hell are you waiting for?! Times a' wastin', get to Giovanni's right now.
Here are what you need. Cookie sheet and knives, PF Twin French bread, your favorite pizza sauce (I'd try Appian Way, if available.), mild banana peppers, provolone (or mozzarella), rough-chopped onion, hot cappicola (thin sliced), salami, and bologna. Pre-heat the oven to 425º.
Three slices of bologna, three of hot cappy, two of provolone, and two of salami. Cut each in half.
It only takes about a tablespoon of sauce, enough to 'paint' the surface. You don't want it to get soggy.
A little taste of home.
Don
Thoughts on Things, Intro
What another blog? Don't you have two already? Well, yeah, I do. But they are geared toward hobbies, and sometimes I just like to write well-thought-out, and deeply-held tomes of nonsense. Actually, for the last dozen years or so, I've been ranting and pontificating to my sister, Kristi, on various subjects that have struck my mood, and she has been gracious enough to not tell me to stick it up my ass listen patiently. As I am sure she always had better things to do while I intruded on her time, I thought, "What the hell, why not pester as many people as possible?" So here I am to intrude on your time. I know, I know, you're thinking, "Don, I won't let you intrude, I'll just exit out." Oh yeah? Well just try, Mister (or Sister, as the case may be). You can't, can you? The power of my will compels you to stay. ...................Shit, who am I kidding. This is a car wreck about to happen, and you can't look away. I can live with that. The inadequacy of my will compels you to stay.
Ok, there it is. I will try to make regular appearances, but we all know my track record with the other two blogs. But then again, Halley's Comet makes regular appearances, so if I can do better than one post every 86 years, I figure I'm golden.
I think I will ease into this blog, start off with some fluff, before bludgeoning you all with the really weighty stuff. Some food, yeah, a recipe, that's it. A recipe. I need to go to the kitchen, and make something to eat. I'll be back shortly.
Don
Ok, there it is. I will try to make regular appearances, but we all know my track record with the other two blogs. But then again, Halley's Comet makes regular appearances, so if I can do better than one post every 86 years, I figure I'm golden.
I think I will ease into this blog, start off with some fluff, before bludgeoning you all with the really weighty stuff. Some food, yeah, a recipe, that's it. A recipe. I need to go to the kitchen, and make something to eat. I'll be back shortly.
Don
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